Vladimir Nabokov. Un cuento de hadas
"And—and—" mumbled Erwin, shuffling his feet under the table: "—and where is it all going to—uh—happen? I have only a very small room."
"Don't worry about that either," said Frau Monde, and her corset creaked as she rose. "Now it's time you went home. No harm in get ting a good night's rest. I'll give you a lift."
In the open taxi, with the dark wind streaming between starry sky and glistening asphalt, poor Erwin felt tremendously elated. Frau Monde sat erect, her crossed legs forming a sharp angle, and the city lights flashed in her gemlike eyes.
"Here's your house,"